Followers
by NataKiwi
Summary: The most beautiful thing I've ever written OR read (Slightly fanfiction of It's Not A Love Potion by CrystalP734).


A soft rumble woke Goyle from his slumber. Sprawled across his favourite black leather sofa, he ran a calloused hand through his bristly hair and blinked wearily, eyes wandering around the familiar Slytherin dungeon. A dim lamp in the room emitted a soft green light, illuminating a large, strong form slipping from the just closing stone door into the shadows. Goyle rose and called out to the figure, voice raspy from sleep. "Crabbe," he rumbled, "I was waiting for you. Where have you been?"

Crabbe blinked, "Goyle. I didn't- I didn't know you would wait. Sorry. Um. Where's Draco?"

Goyle tried not to show the hurt in his eyes. He knew that Draco was smarter, he knew Draco was the reason that he and Crabbe were friends in the first place. But it wouldn't hurt Crabbe to talk to *him* sometimes instead.

"He went to bed a few hours ago," Goyle replied, trying not to sound resentful, "guess he didn't care about you enough to wait up." Goyle turned away. Dammit. That came out wrong. Why did he phrase it like that? He scratched his head and knocked over the lamp in a feeble attempt to distract Crabbe from what he'd just said.

The light dimmed as the lamp shattered on the floor, casting both their faces in shadow. Goyle hoped that Crabbe couldn't see the blush that was rapidly spreading over his cheeks. However, Crabbe's face was, frustratingly, as inscrutable in the darkness as Goyle hoped his own was.

After a moment of tense silence Goyle stalked off to bed, too wrapped up in his own hurt to hear Crabbe's hastily whispered, "_Reparo_," cleaning up the mess he'd left behind.

Crabbe was gone when Goyle woke up. In the harsh morning light of the Slytherin dorms he regretted the words he'd hastily spoken last night.

Goyle didn't like talking, he didn't like how hard it was to convey his thoughts and that his usual silence meant people assumed every word held a weight behind it. If only he'd chosen the right words to show how he felt, instead of-

No, there was no use for regret now. He'd just have to go find Crabbe and make sure they were alright.

Unfortunately, every time Goyle saw Crabbe, he was always with Draco. Crabbe would proudly stand at the blond haired boy's right-hand side, whisper in his ear and grunt with approval at everything Draco said. Goyle felt a burning sensation in his gut every time he saw this happen. After a few days of suffering from this strange condition, Goyle tried to make the feeling go away. If the problem was caused by Draco and Crabbe, the solution must be to retreat into himself! He stopped hanging off Draco's shoulder along with Crabbe and started frequenting his bed at all hours, staring up at the dark material above him. The trio melted into a duo, leaving Goyle alone, trying to forget all the scenarios (all of which involved Crabbe) that seemed to materialize in his mind. He took to avoiding the Great Hall at dinner time, just going straight to the house elves for food. Despite Goyle's best attempts at solitude, after almost a week, on one of his kitchen runs, Goyle found himself alone again with Crabbe.

"Crabbe," Goyle spoke icily.

"Goyle," Crabbe's voice came out at a higher pitch than normal- he almost sounded like that Potter brat, "Are you avoiding me?"

Goyle felt himself turn redder than when he'd accidentally miscast a spell in transfiguration and turned himself half into an emu.

"No. Of course not," he quickly denied.

Crabbe blushed in return and muttered, "It's just... I haven't seen you in a while, and dinner is in an hour but you're here at the kitchen even though Draco always tells us not to snack..."

Goyle couldn't think of a way to explain his tumultuous feelings. He could only shake his head and walk away. What was Crabbe doing near the kitchens anyway? As he'd pointed out himself, Draco usually didn't allow them to go down there because he didn't want them to gain so much weight that they were no longer effective as bodyguards. But maybe Draco had new rules now they weren't hanging out with Goyle. Maybe Crabbe and Draco had decided to be best friends without him.

Goyle couldn't sleep that night. Images from the past week flying through his mind. Crabbe and Draco talking quietly together in a corner, stealing sideways glances at each other. Draco and Crabbe passing notes to each other and pointing at Goyle when they thought he wasn't looking. Crabbe and Draco arriving into the common room far later than everyone else, smirking as if they knew something no one else did. And above it all, the rosiness of Crabbe's cheeks earlier that night. He wondered if he blushed as cutely as Crabbe did. It was curiously disarming. But no, it wasn't worth thinking anything about Crabbe now. They were falling apart, and Goyle felt there was nothing he could do to bring them closer together again. At this rate, it was unlikely that Crabbe even remembered that Goyle's birthday was tomorrow. Goyle fell asleep with tear-stained cheeks, salty rivulets that still hadn't dried by the time Crabbe laid down in the bunk next to him.

A soft, gentle nudge brought Goyle to his senses. It was dark and the murky waters of the lake lapped gently onto the windows.  
"Goyle," a soft voice spoke. Crabbe's voice. Must be a dream, then. Crabbe hadn't said his name voluntarily in days. "Mmm," Goyle rumbled, still tangled in the webs of sleep. "Goyle," the voice repeated, more urgently, yet there was a gentleness in it which brought Goyle to alertness. He became increasingly aware of a warm body next to him, of sweet breath caressing his cheek and a hand carefully placed on top of his own.

Oh. So this was going to be one of those dreams then. Goyle rolled over and smiled, "Crabbe," he whispered with all the desire he usually hid from everyone, including himself.

It was a dream. It was okay to be honest. No one would know.

Dream Crabbe's breath caught and his cheeks turned that delicious pink again. Goyle just wanted to lick them. So he did.

A clearing throat interrupted the slide of his tongue, "Goyle," drawled a very different voice than the one Goyle wanted to hear. In fact, it was the last voice Goyle wanted to hear. Even in his dreams Draco was a giant dickbag who ruined everything.

"Do I not even get a nice dream for my birthday?" for some reason this sent Dream Draco into a fit of snickers.

"Um. Goyle," spoke Crabbe, "this isn't a dream."

"..."

"..."

"*snort*"

"Oh," Goyle decided to suffocate himself with his pillow.

"Goyle," at least Crabbe didn't seem to be laughing, "Goyle, get up."  
"I can think of one part of him which seems to be up," Draco managed to gasp out.

"Draco, shut up," wait. Wait! Crabbe was taking his side? Crabbe hadn't moved from the bed, maybe...

"What's going on?" Theo waking up seemed to shake Goyle out of his spell.

Draco stopped laughing long enough to answer their dorm-mate, "Well Crabbe and I had planned a surprise party for Goyle-"

"Draco!" Crabbe seemed upset, pausing from trying to detach Goyle from his pillow for a second.

"But then Goyle here decided to have a gay revelation instead." Draco concluded.

Goyle moved the pillow an inch or so away from his face to reply, "It's not a revel- it's- shut up, Draco, it's not like you're not obsessing over Potter every second he's out of your sight anyway."

Theo was now the one laughing while Draco spluttered, "I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about. Now stop wrestling Crabbe in an attempt to grope him whilst he tries to take your pillow, there will be time for that later. Get up and be grateful for the party your best friends have bothered to throw for you."

A lifetime of obeying Draco made Goyle put his pillow down and get off the bed. He reached for the robes piled on the floor but a cough from Draco forced him to go for the dress robes instead. Crabbe remained on Goyle's bed, his brow furrowed as Goyle retreated into the restroom to change.

It took Goyle a few minutes longer to dress than normal. His large feet kept tripping over the hems of his dress robes, his shaking fingers fumbled over clasps and buttons, and his head continually shook to clear out the embarrassing thoughts and memories of what had just transpired. It was not new for Draco to act like that, especially when provoked by his more-than-obvious feelings for Harry Potter (Goyle didn't know why Draco had ever tried to hide that one). But for Crabbe to defend Goyle, especially against Draco... What did that mean? Goyle checked to make sure his robes were on properly before striding out of the lavatory, pretending that nothing embarrassing had happened.

Crabbe was waiting for him by the door, staring off in the distance, while Draco was chatting with Theo. Judging by Draco's flushed cheeks, it was about Potter. Meanwhile, Crabbe was shifting from foot to foot, deep in thought. Goyle knew that not many people considered Crabbe capable of thought, but he knew better. Goyle had learned to notice the small things about the other burly boy. When Crabbe picked at his hair, it meant that he was bored. Crabbe mumbled to himself when he was sad or distracted. When Crabbe was nervous, he looked down at his hands. But always, Crabbe's eyes changed shades with his mood. Goyle especially liked when Crabbe was happy and laughing, for his eyes would go a few shades lighter and it would look like fireworks were erupting in his eyes. Now, Crabbe's eyes were dark and deep, evidence that he was deep in thought. His brow was also furrowed, and Goyle had a strange urge to smooth out the creases in Crabbe's forehead with his fingers. He moved closer and was just about to reach out his hand when-

"Are you idiots coming or not?" drawled Draco, who was already out the door. Evidently, while both Goyle and Crabbe were lost in thought, Draco had finished talking with Theo. Both Crabbe and Goyle started, and then silently followed the blonde boy, falling back into their previous roles as they left the Slytherin common room.

However, there seemed to be something different in the atmosphere between all of them. All three were quiet as they shuffled through the corridors, keeping an eye out for Filch or Mrs. Norris. Thankfully, neither of which appeared around a corner or from some shadows. But instead of Draco striding confidently ahead, nose in the air, this time he kept glancing back at Crabbe and Goyle, as if he was searching for something between them.

The trio halted on the seventh floor, in front of a blank part of wall, opposite a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Goyle hoped that there was a hidden kitchen there because he was tired of climbing stairs and he was getting hungry and Draco was still giving him those looks like they were in potions and Draco thought Goyle should be having an easier time with a recipe than he was. Goyle tried not to think about the fact that this was often caused by being distracted by the heat radiating off of Crabbe's hand, mere inches away from his own, and how those were thoughts he wasn't supposed to have. Any thoughts abou Crabbe's hands in general, for that matter. They were large, callused, and yet so soft, and warm. Goyle could tell that they would fit together really nicely with his own. It made his brain hurt and his chest clench and it simply wasn't very pleasant. One of those same hands was now a whole, hollow, sad, unfortunate, foot away from Goyle's own. But no, Crabbe was moving closer! Startled, Goyle looked up and into darkness. It appeared that while Goyle was thinking about Crabbe's hands, Draco had snuck up behind Goyle and was in the process of putting a blindfold around Goyle's head. Goyle had hardly any time to process this when he felt a warm touch around his wrist and a breath in his ear.

"Just follow my lead," whispered Crabbe.

These four words sent chills up Goyle's spine, and he hoped that Crabbe couldn't feel the quickening of his pulse. Thankfully (or regretfully) Crabbe let go of Goyle's wrist and placed his hands gingerly on the other boy's shoulders. Together, almost as one, they walked back and forth three times. Goyle was then guided to where the wall was... or should have been, because he swore that he heard the creak of a door being opened, and had the sensation of walking through where the wall had been just a moment before. Crabbe's comforting hands left Goyle's shoulders and the blindfold fell away from Goyle's eyes, revealing a cavernous room bedecked with streamers and banners, all in the Slytherin house colours. In the center of the room was a table, on which rested a scrumptious feast with all of Goyle's favourite foods, many bottles of butterbeer, and a beautiful cake which read "Happy Birthday Goyle" in frosting. Tearing his eyes away from the food which was beckoning to him, Goyle turned to his friends.

"How did you do all of this?" he asked in disbelief.

"We talked to the house elves," Crabbe explained helpfully "and they gave us all the food we needed." Goyle shot him a smile only to see Crabbe's eyes light up and his cheeks turn that delightful shade of pink again.

"And this," declared Draco, as he spun in a lazy circle, arms wide, "is the Room of Requirement! It basically is a room which alters itself to serve whatever needs you want. I found it last year when came in use for a little...project of mine." Draco smirked and blushed simultaneously, so obviously that project had something to do with the Harry Potter situation. Maybe even the defeat of Voldemort, although Goyle had never been able to get a straight answer out of Draco about that one.

"Does this have to do with why you were so mad at Zabini?" Goyle was impressed with Crabbe's deduction skills. He'd hardly realized that Draco's weird time last year (and his...excitement whenever Potter was nearby) matched up with Zabini's mysterious lowering in Draco's opinion. He'd been a little distracted by having Crabbe all to himself, to be honest.

Draco just got unusually flustered and walked towards the refreshment table, busying himself with making drinks. Goyle wasn't sure if this meant he and Crabbe had outwitted Draco for once, or if it was just the presence of coffee luring him away.

"C'mon," Crabbe said, taking Goyle's hand and leading him towards the table as well. Fuck. Goyle was definitely blushing at this point, blood rushing to his already flushed cheeks. And from what he could tell, Crabbe was blushing even more, if that was actually possible.

Goyle decided to stop beating around the bush. If he wasn't careful, he thought his head might explode from that cholesterol Draco liked to nag them about.

"Crabbe," spoke Goyle, tugging at the hand he still couldn't believe was in his, "I think I might like you."

"I like you too," said Crabbe, halting in confusion, "You're my best friend."  
Goyle opened his mouth; he thought he'd finally figured out why Draco was giving them strange looks, and he was having his dreams, but before he could speak Millicent popped a confetti cannon in their direction, and his mouth was filled with little scraps of paper. All of the Slytherins in their year poured through the doors and the raucous party started. Goyle supposed that his birthday would be the talk of the castle, but for once in his life he just wanted a moment to speak the words pounding through his head. Every time he thought he could get Crabbe alone someone would get in the way, Pansy shoving an "ironic" yellow headband on his head, Zabini offering him a potion and Draco dragging Blaise away. As if the Slytherins weren't enough, then Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors came pouring into the room and, oh god, Draco was snogging Potter, no one needed to ever see that, and while Goyle was shielding his burning eyes that buffoon Weasley managed to drag Crabbe into a chess game! Honestly, it was almost a relief when a hand came out of nowhere and shoved him in a closet, locking the door after him, and he knew it would damage his henchman reputation, but he barely struggled at all.

He stopped struggling completely when he realized who was in the closet with him.

"Crabbe?" he asked, remembering that familiar warmth that had been so close to his mere hours before.

"This," drawled a voice from outside the cupboard, "is a muggle game called 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'. The rest of us will be playing 'Spin the Bottle'. It's your birthday, so enjoy yourself, Goyle."

Laughter and chuckles rang from outside the cupboard, but within the dark, tight space there was only silence. Goyle felt himself turn redder than he knew was possible. He felt the body next to him shift slightly. Somehow he knew that Crabbe was looking down at his hands and blushing as well. Here it was. Goyle's opportunity, the one he had been waiting for all night. As the seconds stretched into minutes, he went and took the fatal leap.

"Crabbe, I don't just like you. I more than like you," this was one of the hardest things that he'd ever had to say, but Goyle forced himself to be honest, "I trust you," he blurted, knowing Draco might yell at him later about not being a good Slytherin, hiding his intentions, but the gasp that Crabbe emitted made it all worth it. That phrase, rarely spoken by Slytherins, meant so much more to them than other houses. It conveyed ultimate friendship and a desire to be bonded even stronger than by an Unbreakable Vow.

Crabbe did not respond immediately. Goyle's heart was beating faster than he had ever thought possible. Crabbe thought that they were only friends, and what he, Goyle, had said just then would irreparably break their friendship. Crabbe hated Goyle, because he had something against homosexuality when it concerned him. Cauldron bum! He made a terrible mistake in admitting his love for Vincent Crabbe-

"I trust you too," whispered Crabbe. And suddenly everything exploded. Crabbe was all around Goyle, the air rich with his scent. Goyle was enveloped in Crabbe's arms, and they were hugging. All of their built up emotions were released in that hug. Compassion, uncertainty, sympathy, and jealousy hung in the air after that cathartic moment. Then, in a magical moment, all these other emotions transformed into just one. Love.

"I don't hear anything," sang a voice from outside the cupboard, "I think maybe seven more minutes should do it."

Seven. The magic number. Goyle felt Crabbe leaning in, his sweet breath washing over Goyle's lips. But-

"Crabbe, I've never kissed anyone befo-" Goyle started, but was unable to finish his protest, because right then the words were stolen from his lips by Crabbe's kiss. Goyle had only a second to process this before Crabbe pulled away. Then those four words entered his head, spoken by the same person who had said them before. Those words that had sent delightful shivers down Goyle's spine.

"Just follow my lead," breathed Crabbe.

"Anywhere," Goyle promised.

And then it really was seven minutes in heaven.

They strolled out of the closet, hand in hand. The party was still rolling, but over the joyous yells of their classmates, Goyle could still hear his own heart thumping as well as what he'd been waiting for all night-

"Happy Birthday Goyle," whispered Crabbe.

END


End file.
